What Makes an Enemy
by xDontxBlink'-'x
Summary: The strike was already stressful enough for the newsies, for one newsie however, the strike throws her whole life into disarray, with her older brother pulling her one direction, and a childhood friend pulling the other. With some luck, she may be able to pull that friend, Morris Delancey, and his brother for good measure, over to the side of the newsies. (Broadway OBC)
1. A Chance Meeting

It was a dreary fall evening in 1894, and a steady drizzle of rain enveloped Manhattan. It was the kind of rain that's not heavy enough to complain about, but enough to thoroughly soak any poor sod unfortunate to be outside. The rain was however, effectively annoying one particular eleven year old girl.

Now, at first glance, or even first conversation, you wouldn't realize this girl was in fact, a girl. With her blonde hair tucked up under a weather beaten brown cap and a somewhat matching vest over a dingy, hand-me-down button up, she played the part of a young boy very well.

Elisabeth Kelly, better known by the nickname Bets was both a proud Manhattan newsie and proud younger sibling to a not yet infamous Jack Kelly. Both of the Kelly siblings were somewhat new to the newsie business, after escaping the death trap that was the refuge only a year ago. Because of their status as young fugitives, Jack was never keen on leaving his little sister alone on the streets, but, when the siblings had spotted the owner of the refuge, a man with the name of Snyder, from their usual selling spot, they scrambled; each dashing a different direction to get away from the much larger man. Fortunately for the younger Kelly sibling, Snyder had elected to chase after Jack, who he had a much smaller chance of actually catching.

So this rainy night found a cold, wet, and highly annoyed Bets walking alone back to the lodging house the Manhattan newsies called home, more than a little worried about her big brother.

There wasn't much she could do about the situation though, so she elected to keep moving forward through the rain and the slick, grimy, mud that coated the street with the hope that Jack would be in the downstairs common room of the lodging house waiting for her arrival.

The handful of pennies she had made from selling papers earlier that day jingled in her pocket as her walk turned into a jog, anxious to get home. It was then that she passed a shadowed alley, one that she had ignored a thousand times before. Today however, she was startled when from that alley came an odd sound, like a muffled sob.

Turning on her heel, she froze, staring down the alley, searching for the source of the sound. She spotted a small figure, seated with his back against the wall of the alley, hunched over, arms wrapped around his knees, with a large hat precariously balanced on his head. The kid looked to be about her brother's age, which was only a year older than her, but he was definitely on the scrawny side.

She then made the decision to take off her cap and let her hair hang down around her shoulders. She figured it would make her already small form less intimidating for whoever this scared kid was. Taking a few timid steps into the alley she called out, "Uh, excuse me, you alright?"

The boy didn't even bother to look up at the young newsie that had turned down the alley. He barely even registered that she was there. Inching closer, she tapped his shoulder, and repeated her question. The boy groaned and responded, though still refusing to look up, keeping his head between his knees, he just swore, "Shit."

"What the hell do you want kid?" He looked up at Bets taking off the too large black hat that had been on his head. Bets stepped back, stunned. The second the hat was out of the way, she knew exactly who she was talking to; that uniquely colored hair, a mix of an orange-red and dark blonde was unmistakable. She was looking down at none other than Morris Delancey, the kid that had been helping to terrorize the younger newsies since before she had first arrived at the lodging house. His identity wasn't the reason for her mouth hanging open with shock though. Her stunned expression was the result of the swollen, black and blue eye commanding the Delancey boy's facial features.

As he looked up, Morris Delancey was expecting to see the Kelly brat, whose older brother he knew too well, to be sneering down at him, ready to give him a good kick to the gut for the last time he had soaked his older brother. Instead, he was met with a very different expression, one of shock that morphed into concern.

His face, however, carried a stunned expression, his mouth agape, as he looked at Jack Kelly's younger brother. It was definitely Bets, but it wasn't _him_. It was a girl. She jumped back and hastily tried to hide her hair underneath her cap, but gave up when she saw his still stunned face showing steadily growing signs of confusion. As he went to stand up, he just looked at the kid in front of him and exclaimed, "What the hell!?"

She shook her head as she crossed her arms and mocking his choice of words, spit out, "_What the hell_ happened to you Delancey?" Still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Bets was in fact a girl, he didn't think as he murmured, "My uncle's an asshole, I'm used to it." He was then surprised yet again when instead of the expected taunts, the young newsie's expression only softened. Realizing what he had said, Morris swore again and turned around, tossing a, "get lost kid," over his shoulder.

Bets, making a split second decision called out to him, "Wait!" Stopping dead in his tracks Morris looked over his shoulder and said, "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone you're a girl," he then jabbed his finger towards his swollen eye as he spat out, "if you don't tell no one about this."

For what seemed like the twentieth time in the last ten minutes, Bets gave another shocked look to the boy staring her down. "That wasn't what I was going to say." The nine year old girl then made a decision that would alter the present course of both of their lives. "I was gonna ask you if youse got anywhere to go."

Once again Morris Delancey was floored by the Kelly brat. Well, maybe brat doesn't quite fit her he ceded, as he shook his head no.

"I can't really give ya anywhere to sleep," she said, "but I made a little extra today," she said as she pulled a couple pennies out of her pocket. It was a complete lie of course, but she had made the decision to help someone she didn't quite always get along with, and she wasn't backing out at this point. Changing her mind now would probably only make things worse for the newsies, whereas helping Morris may very well make things better. "I haven't been able to get any supper yet, but I think the café down the street from the lodging house is still open. Up for splittin a sandwich?"

Morris hesitated before answering, "If you're alright with payin, I guess I'm not in much of position to say no." He looked down at the girl in front of him, only a couple inches shorter than he was. "Who knows," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he tried to hide his gratitude, "this may be the start of a beautiful friendship."

Bets just gave him a toothy grin and waltzed out of the alleyway, with the Delancey brother in tow.

Twelve year old Jack Kelly kept pacing back and forth, driving the other newsies crazy. It was, according to Specs, who was sitting with him and Race, half past nine, almost two hours since Jack had gotten back to the lodging house.

Snyder had given up chasing Jack through the alleyways of lower Manhattan after just a few minutes, but for all Jack knew; he had given up chasing him for the sole purpose of snatching his little sister and dragging her back the damn refuge instead.

The three boys turned their heads in unison as they heard the door creak open. Before Bets could even cross the threshold, Jack was sprinting to her. As the door closed, he threw his arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug. He started to speak as he pulled back and held her at arm's length, looking her over for any injuries, "What happened to you? I made it back two hours ago!"

"I met a kid that was in a spot of trouble right before I passed the café on my way back, and I stopped to help. I'm alright Jack."

She smiled up at her older brother as the four kids walked upstairs to the bunk room, and Bets made sure not to mention just who her new friend was as they chatted before getting some sleep.


	2. Carrying the Banner

**Alright, so before I plunge head on into this story, I figured I should somewhat explain the idea behind it. When looking at a cast list of the OBC, I noticed that Morris/Oscar are played by the same people as Mike/Ike. That was the springboard for this story of how Morris and Oscar become Mike and Ike, at least to some people. Also, I am a firm believer that Morris/Oscar aren't all bad, just put in bad circumstances, or this story wouldn't be happening. The story will follow through the strike, and then I'm not sure where it will go, I haven't planned anything out, but I'm committing myself to this, and will try to update at least once a week. Criticism is welcome. That's enough rambling for now.**

**I own nothing but my OC. - ****Isn't that sad?**

"The bell ain't rung yet go back to sleep!" Jack's sleepy tones bounced around in my head, stirring me from a much needed sleep and a rather nice dream. "Will ya please shut up, Jack!" I snapped over to my brother. I then looked over to Crutchie who apparently had decided he needed to up and out of the lodging house before everyone else, causing the chain reaction that led to me being woken up.

I groaned and pulled myself up with the rail that made up the side of the fire escape that was Jack's "penthouse."

Telling the two boys I'd see them in a minute, I made my way down ladder of the fire escape and into the bunkroom of the lodging house via window. I heard Crutchie yelling Jack's name for some reason, making some of the boys stir in their sleep. That could be me still sleeping peacefully, but no. Jack had to cause a ruckus, though I will admit, that's kinda his thing.

I walked over to my bunk, in the corner furthest from the door, and started getting my things together. I had basically commandeered the whole corner to myself. Specs and Albert had helped me rig an old sheet to form a wall for my birthday when I had turned twelve. I didn't get the big deal at the time, but they said I'd need my own space as I got older, and I'm glad I decided to roll with the idea. I don't know what I'd do without it.

Grabbing my vest, socks, and boots off the top bunk, I started to get ready for the day, while Jack yelled at everyone to get up and moving. So began the usual morning routine of chaos, discussing selling spots, and harassing each other.

I tied up my hair with the same ribbon I had been using for three years, but as I turned to start heading downstairs, I realized my hat was nowhere to be found. I swear I could never keep that thing where I needed it.

"Hey! That's my cigar!" Race exclaimed as Albert walked into the bunkroom. Albert then responded with, "Go steal another!" I promptly walked over to the only other two newsies who seemed somewhat awake, wondering if they had seen my hat. Before I asked the question though, a very disheveled Romeo appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, shaving cream in hand, an opportunity for a jab I just couldn't pass up. "Hey look boys," I gained their attention as I propped my elbow on Albert's shoulder, despite the fact that he was taller than me, "its bath time at the zoo." Then the banter continued as it usually did until Albert and Race got into a discussion about a new selling spot as we all walked downstairs to the common room. I propped myself up on the rail of the staircase as I waited for the infamous leader of the Manhattan newsies to get his lazy ass downstairs.

After a few moments, Jack was on his way down, Crutchie right behind him walking as he said a few words to the newsies, waking everyone up and getting everyone ready to hit the town, a skill I don't think I'll ever have. As he passed me he grinned and said, "Need this?" as he held my missing hat up, plopping it down on my head.

I adjusted my hat as I followed the excited group of newsies out the door and to the distribution center, for some reason it felt like today was going to be great.

I was horribly wrong. Forget the good day idea. We have the same lousy headline today we've had for three weeks. All of the newsies gave a mix of sounds of frustration and hopelessness. It was hard enough to sell papes already, throw in a stale headline, and selling those few extra papes is almost impossible. It was partly because of the already dismal mood that I wasn't surprised when the Delanceys received even more heckling than usual when they opened up the gates to the distribution center.

I hung in the back as I usually did, but I could tell something was going down, so I pushed my way forward in time to see Morris shove Crutchie to the ground. Jack immediately stepped forward, getting in between Crutchie and Morris, both boys staring the other down. I jumped forward, ducking under Crutchie's arm, replacing the lost crutch that had somehow found its way from Morris into Jack's hands.

"Someday you might have a bum leg of your own," Jack said as he stared down Morris something that always looked odd since Morris was several inches taller than him, "How'd ya like us picking on you? Hey, maybe we should find out!" Then with two quick motions, both the Delancey brothers were on the ground, and Jack was on the run.

Buttons picked up Crutchie, and we all made our way into the distribution center; Jack would show up sooner or later, and the Delanceys would probably have a few new bruises to show for their trouble.

Of course, my life would be much easier if the newsies and the Delanceys could just get along, but, the way things are now, that's something I highly doubt will ever happen.

I fell in line behind Specs and Elmer, the latter of which was disinterestedly listening to Specs ramble on about some book he had gotten his hands on. All of the newsies filed in, forming a haphazard line to the newsstand that currently was solely manned by Weisel. As I looked around for any sign of Jack, two hands covered my eyes, and a familiar voice shouted, "Guess who!"

"Albert!" I knocked his hands away from my eyes as I turned to face him, as Specs wrapped up his conversation with Elmer and did the same. Albert had an absolutely ridiculous grin plastered across his face and he looked ready to burst as he fiddled with his red necktie looking from me to Specs. I looked over to Specs and we both groaned as our eyes met. Over the years, the three of us had become a nearly inseparable trio and had been caught up in plenty of adventures together. It was that former experience that had led Specs and I to both learn that whenever Albert had that grin on his face it normally didn't mean anything good for the rest of us.

I wouldn't trade their friendship for anything though, because while we often found ourselves in trouble, we always worked to pull each other out. The two boys had always been there for me whenever Jack couldn't be, and were the only two newsboys that knew I was on speaking terms with the Delancey brothers. The two of them had even covered for me in the past when I had left the lodging house to meet up with Morris, and occasionally Oscar, for a late night out whenever one, or both of us, needed a break from the people we were usually around.

Turning back to Albert, I looked him square in the eye and asked, "What did you do this time?" while Specs followed up with, "And is it going to get us soaked?" Albert just laughed, which was even more worrying and turned to me as he pulled a small piece of paper out of his pocket. "This is addressed to you my dear Bets!"

"From who?" I asked as I raised my eyebrow. He then said as nonchalantly as possible, "Mike dropped it when he was rolling around on the ground earlier." As soon as he finished talking I made to snatch the slightly crumpled note from his hands, but he jerked it away, skipping a few steps out of reach. Mike was the name Specs, Albert, Morris and I had decided to use instead of Morris's real name if he came up in conversation, or in this case writing, when other newsies may be around. Oscar was, in keeping with newsie nickname fashion, then dubbed Ike. I was thankful that Specs and Albert went along with it; I knew that neither of them were huge fans of the fact that I was friendly with the Delanceys. They never told any of the other newsies though, out of respect for our friendship, because they knew things wouldn't end well if Jack ever found out I spoke to his self-proclaimed enemies on a regular basis.

"Albert! Give me that paper!" I demanded as I held out my hand. "Aw come on!" he retorted, "I gotta have some fun today!" I stepped forward, and he stepped back. Realizing that he had decided to make me getting my hands on that note as difficult as possible, Specs chuckled behind me and said, "Good luck with that, I'll hold you twos' spots in line." With that comment, Albert turned and sprinted away from the line of newsies as I scrambled after him.

He ran towards the front of the distribution center towards a handful of news wagons that had delivered the papers to the Manhattan distribution center only an hour earlier. As he weaved through the wagons I jumped on top of them, hopping from one to the next until I was standing on the last cart, as Albert made his way out of the jumble of wagons. I jumped and landed squarely on his back, holding on tightly, as he gave a surprised yelp, and we both tumbled to the ground.

Sitting on his back, I triumphantly yelled in his ear, "Can't get away now Al!" He looked back at me, propping his head up with his hands on his chin and his elbows on the grimy floor of the distribution center and rolled his eyes as he held up the slip of paper to me. "Thank you!" I grinned at him as I plucked the paper from his fingers, and unfolded it, seeing Morris's chicken scratch that passed as handwriting. Before I could start reading Albert huffed and said, "Can I get up now?"

I smiled down at him and shook my head no, turning back to my note, reading as Albert continued to complain about his current state.

_Bets, I hope you're headed to your usual selling spot today. – Mike_

He didn't write much, but there wasn't a reason to, it was his way of asking to meet up later, and, if he could, walk with me as I sold my papes. It was the normal extent of our interactions, and the note was nothing out of the usual. Not that I had been hoping for anything else. At least, I thought I hadn't been, but that wouldn't explain the feeling of disappointment settling in my chest.

Albert groaned from the ground, startling me from thoughts. I dug my hand into his back as I pushed myself up and he rolled over onto his back and held up his hand. I pulled him to his feet as gave me a sarcastic, "thanks."

Before he could say anything else, the bottom of a crutch came down on his head, as Jack, smiling wide as ever, waltzed into the distribution center looking at the two of us saying, "you probably deserved whatever it was you got Albert, now let's go sell some papes!" I smiled at Albert as we jogged back to our place beside Specs. "Did you get what you were looking for?" Specs asked as he looked down at me. "Yes, I did!" I answered grinning as I flashed the note in front of him.

Specs then turned to Albert, "Alright, pay up." Albert groaned as he handed Specs a couple of pennies. Confused, I looked between my two best friends, then, as realization dawned on me, I took the bag I carried my papers in off my shoulder and knocked the pair of them in head with it. "You two bet on whether or not I'd be able to catch Albert!"

Specs, looking as sheepish as ever, replied, "Actually, we bet on how long it would take, I bet on under thirty seconds on account of what I suspect is a small crush on Mike."

I could feel my face turning red as I practically shouted, "I DO NOT-" Albert cut me off, "Whoa there keep your voice down lover girl.

Have a crush on Mike," I finished with a whisper. "Your cherry red face says otherwise," Specs said as the two boys started laughing. As they quieted down though, Specs added, "Be careful though. I know you two are close, but he is still a Delancey." We had this conversation before, and I was ready to defend Morris, but Specs threw his hands up as I took in a breath to begin my normal rant on the subject.

"All I'm saying is, despite what either of us may think is his true character, he still works for pigs like Weisel and even Snyder." Albert nodded as he said, "We just don't want to see you get hurt Bets."

"Don't you two worry about the Delanceys, they won't bother me," I said as I shook my head. Albert frowned as he narrowed his eyes at the newsstand where Morris and Oscar had finally shown up, "They sure don't mind messing with Crutchie though do they." Right, I had pleasantly forgotten about the scene this morning. "I'll talk to Morris about it," I sighed as I followed Albert's line of sight to the boy in question.

"I know they tend to pick fights where they shouldn't, but targeting Crutchie is a bit outta character, even for those two idiots. I'll figure out what's going on."


	3. Messages Recieved

Specs moved away from the newsstand making room for me as he counted his papes, a habit he had made after getting shortchanged a couple times, not that he ever actually said anything about it to whoever was working the stand; he just kept a record of how many times the Delanceys screwed up. I slid up to the counter with the brim of my hat pulled low, and muttered to Weisel, "The usual fifty please," and set a nickel and five pennies on the counter.

Unlike most of the newsies, I didn't risk messing with Weisel. So long as I didn't mess with him, he wouldn't get angry with me, and as long as he wasn't angry with me our interactions were reduced to that one sentence every morning. If I don't speak to him much and keep my head down, the chances of him figuring out I'm a girl stay pretty slim.

I moved to the other side of the counter as Albert waltzed forward and started heckling Weisel. As I waited for Oscar to count out my papers, he always made sure to count mine at the risk of catching hell for it later, I leaned my back up against the side of the stand. Glancing up, I noticed Morris, looking particularly dejected, leaning forward, his forearms crossed, lying on the railing at the top of the newsstand.

He scanned the crowd of newsies on the ground in front of him, looking for someone I guess, until Albert said something particularly loud and his attention was directed to the ground directly in front of him. He then looked to his right and his eyes fell on me. I turned my head quickly, looking back to Oscar who was holding out my papes, his eyebrow raised quizzically. I snatched the papers out of his hand, stuffing them in my bag as I pulled out the note I had gotten from Albert. I could still feel Morris's eyes on me, so I looked up with a grin, and his expression changed to mimic his older brothers as he raised his eyebrow at me.

Still holding the note in my hand, I raised my arms over my head, fingers intertwined, like I was stretching in an attempt to discretely convey that I had received his message. The second he saw the note his expression brightened, and a rare smile graced his face. I jumped when I heard Albert behind me, "Don't stare too long, I was under the impression you wanted to _not_ let Jack notice these types of things."

I hastily broke eye contact with Morris as he let his face drop into his usual neutral expression and went back to looking over the crowd of newsies. "You know," Albert continued as we walked away from the stand, "I think Specs may very well be right about that crush."

"Ah shut it Al," I said as I pulled my cap a little further down, I could feel my face growing red. We walked over to where Specs was sitting on a stack of old milk crates, which I promptly climbed to the top of, and sat down as we waited for the rest of the newsies to get their papers.

Feeling my still flushed cheeks, I turned my head towards the entrance of the distribution center to avoid both of the boys sitting and chatting in front of me. There's just no way Specs can be right. Morris and I have been friends for ages, but that's all it's ever been. Even that has been a stretch at times, especially when Weisel was really on the boys about keeping the newsies in line. Even if there was something else it's not like that would be something that would ever work, especially with mornings like today.

I still can't believe Morris pushed Crutchie down like that. Over the last few years, instances like that had happened, and we would have long discussions about them afterward. There were even a couple of times that I had refused to speak to either of the Delancey brothers for several days because they had beaten up some poor kid. The core of the issue always boiled down to Weisel though. If the Delanceys went too long without busting someone up Weisel would come down on the boys, hard.

There are far too many memories I have of Morris or Oscar running through the street to find me, and hauling me back to some alley or hole in the wall, only to see the other brother beat to hell. That particular scenario hadn't happened in a few years, but I don't know whether to attribute that to the fact that the boys are too big for Weisel to handle them that way, or the fact that they no longer attempt to go against his wishes. I was the only friend the Delancey brothers had to turn to back then though, and I know I would help without a second thought if something like that were to happen again.

I just hope it doesn't. The pain those two went through as children was always greater than what they were forced to hand out to the newsies.

I know I worry about them too much, especially since we are on different sides of a constantly ongoing conflict, but I know them better than the other newsies. Anyone else in my situation would easily consider themselves friends. I can't afford to use those words though, I don't want to try imagining what would happen those two if Weisel ever found out we were on good terms. He believes fear is the only way to keep the newsies in line, and making friends undermines that concept.

Breaking me out of my thoughts, Specs got my attention as he tapped my leg. Looking up, he tilted his head towards the stand, directing my attention over to where two boys I had never seen before were buying papers. Specs, Albert, and I watched astounded as the older of the two brothers, I assume they are related since they are here together, accused Weisel and Oscar of shorting him a paper.

Now there is a very good reason Specs never said anything when he was short a pape, and that was because questioning Weisel was like asking to be beat to a pulp. A couple of the boys had tried doing what this new kid was doing before, and Weisel had set responded by setting Oscar and Morris on them the second they were out of the distribution center. Needless to say, those boys didn't cross Weisel again.

This kid must have been either completely insane or honestly have no knowledge about the life of a newsie because he kept pushing Weisel. Then Jack stood up, and snatched the papers out of the tall boy's hands. Fantastic, Jack getting involved in this mess is exactly what needs to happen right now, as if laying out both Oscar and Morris earlier wasn't enough trouble for the day. I jumped up and walked as calmly as I could over to the newsstand. For once, conflict was resolved before I could get over to the stand, and I was amazed when Oscar handed the boy another paper. I guess Jack has been garnering more respect than I thought, especially if Weisel is actually letting him have his way, to a degree.

Jack glanced in my direction and nodded at me, both confirming that everything was under control, and telling me to walk over to him as he walked with the two new boys over to a stack of crates and papers near the center of the distribution center.

I sidled up to the group as Jack spit shook the younger boy's hand, an action at which I noticed both I and the older boy cringed. Jack then turned to me and slung his arm haphazardly over my shoulder and, with his standard grin, introduced me. "Bets, I'd like you to meet my new selling partners, Les, "he nodded to the younger boy, "and Davey Jacobs. Boys, this is my younger brother Bets."

"It's nice to meet you," Davey said with a shy smile. "We was just deciding what to do for the day, selling wise." Jack turned his grin back to me as he talked. "Seeing how I'm going ta be teaching squirt here," he nodded at Les, "what would you think about instructing Davey in the ways of a newsie?

Oh great, loaded question, I kind of had plans, not that I could tell you about that Jack. "That's a great idea Jack!" His face lit up the moment I spoke, great; I don't enjoy dashing his hopes and dreams. "I have a few things I have to get done today though," I continued, trying to communicate a few key points of my sentence through to him. He just continued to look completely dumbfounded, fantastic. Lying isn't made any easier when people don't pick up on what the lie is supposed to be about, and I can't very well say girl things in front of the new kids. "Things that affect _specifically me_ Jack."

There it is! His voice seemed like it rose a couple octaves as he just responded with a simple, "Oh." He then turned to the Les and Davey and said, "Looks like it'll just be us boys." Addressing me, he continued, "Meet up with us later in the alley a couple blocks from Medda's, if you've gotten everything taken care of. Then we can get some dinner together."

"Sounds like a plan, nice to meet you boys!" I nodded to the Jacobs brothers and turned to walk out of the distribution center. I do feel bad about lying to Jack, but I can't very well make a big deal about getting Morris's note and then pull a no show. Looking back towards the newsstand, I notice that neither of the brothers are still there, which means I'm probably going to get beat to my selling spot. All the other newsies have already dispersed, so, disregarding any worries about them getting suspicious, I break into a trot as I make my way through several alleys and down the street, cutting down the distance to my selling spot.


	4. Multiple Falls

** Firstly, I would like to apologize because I haven't updated for over a month, and I really hate that I left you guys like that, life got in the way of writing for a little while with some family/friend issues, graduation, speeches, and finals just throwing one curveball after the other, but I'm back now!**

** So this chapter is much longer than my others, which you guys definitely deserve after that wait, and I'm testing out another character's point of view, don't know if that'll stick around, please let me know what you think! Oh and another side note, neither of the Delanceys' parents are in the picture in this story, just Weisel. Also I should probably do some form of disclaimer… the only thing I own is the character of Elisabeth Kelly, though I really wish that wasn't the case.**

After jogging for about six blocks, I decide to slip into an all too familiar alleyway. After a handful of encounters with Snyder and some of his goons that had resulted in me getting stuck between a beating and a wall I had decided to strategically select my selling spots. Currently, my spot was situated directly in front of the opening of the alleyway allowing me to turn and run to the next street over or climb one of the lower hanging fire escapes to get away from any less than desirable encounters.

It was still early, so there weren't too many people outside yet, giving me a few minutes to catch my breath. It's times like this that I don't mind being a newsie. The city is a quiet as it ever gets this early in the morning, if it wasn't for the occasional shouting matches coming from disgruntled families waking up everyone in their apartments, it could almost be called peaceful.

Spotting a stack of milk crates against the wall of the alley, I moved through the shifting shadows created by the early morning light filtering into the limited space and climbed to the top of the stack to sit down. Lifting the strap of my paper bag over my head I set down the extra weight that was fifty papers. It was never a fun thing hauling around papes, but some days, like today, it didn't feel quite as heavy as I knew it was.

Suddenly there was a deafening bang as a door slammed shut and a man shouted, "Fine! Don' t wait up for me tonight!" I jumped up off the crate, the first person out on the street being my cue that it was time for work. I turned towards the entrance of the alley to see if there was anyone else up and moving yet before I turned back around to grab my papers off the top of the stack of crates where I had left them.

I had shoved them against the wall to keep them from falling off the crate earlier so I was reduced to reaching for them from my tiptoes, all of my concentration focused on trying to grab my bag without all of my papers falling out.

Damn this swollen ankle, just something to add to the long list of reasons I want to throw Jack Kelly off the Brooklyn Bridge. It's not even like I've got that far to walk, Bet's selling spot is only a few blocks, but I already had to stop once. Hopefully she got caught up talking to those new kids so she won't be waiting on me.

There's another thing to think about, I have no idea who those guys were, though I'm sure I'll find out eventually, especially with how much they pissed off Weisel. I can't imagine he's gonna let them get away with that, especially in front of the other newsies. Hopefully he'll just let Snyder deal with it, I know he's been talking to that creep a lot more than usual.

Oh no, I forgot about what Oscar told me last night. I guess it just makes Snyder even more of a creep though. I know I'm not the most discrete person, but just because I "randomly disappear" don't mean Weisel needs to tell Snyder to keep an eye on me.

Actually I guess that might make some sense with mine and Oscar's track records for sneaking around behind Weisel's back. You'd think he would be worried about us getting into trouble, but no, his concern is the fact that we aren't busting heads when we aren't under his thumb.

One more block, you're nearly there Morris, just keep walking, it's no good thinking about things you can't change, at least it's somewhat quiet so getting a headache isn't a worry yet.

Just then a door slam and a man yelling about one thing or another broke my brief reverie and I immediately drop the idea of avoiding a headache.

Thank you sir, thank you for dashing my hopes. Well, at least I'm at the alley and about time too, much longer and I don't know what I would do with this ankle.

The buildings and fire escapes that make up this alley really do serve to make it dismal, but, if Bets thinks it's the safest place for her to sell, who am I to argue. Studying said buildings, the odd lighting of the place catches my eye, and, following one of the patches of light, I spot the very person I'm looking for.

Oh no, I can't laugh, she will kill me for sure. Tiptoes and all, she isn't quite long enough to reach her papers which, for some unknown reason, she has decided to throw on top of old milk crates. Maybe I could use this opportunity to get revenge for the last prank she played on me, I'll have to be dead quiet though.

I suppose it's worth a shot.

Struggling with my own papers, great. This is not something that anyone needs to know about. Wait, it feels like someone's behind me. What do I do? I can scream, run, kick, I could just be imagining things, no.

No there's definitely someone behind me, I can feel his breath on my neck, or at least I assume it's a he. Surely anyone in their right mind knows a newsie doesn't have enough cash to be worth robbing. Damn, is this guy gonna move or am I really imagining things and going insane.

Just as I decide to turn and face my would be assailant an arm reaches over my outstretched hand, still pointed towards my bag, and grabs the strap of my bag. I would recognize that particular hand anywhere though.

Spinning I land a punch square in his chest. He stumbles back about a foot, and tries to hide the grin on his face, but he can't quite manage it. "Morris what is wrong with you?!"

"It's payback Bets," Ah he's referring to the little incident with the crickets, I guess that's valid but that doesn't mean he gets to know that. "Now," his expression turns playful as he looks down at me, "I think you may need this bag squirt." I try to snatch the bag from him, but he lifts his arm so it's just out of reach, oh the joys of being short.

I stick my tongue out and watch as he feigns disappointment, "I really thought you had matured past that sort of thing Bets."

"So stealing a helpless newsie's papers isn't immature at all?"

Oh no, he's grinning again, "Depends on how you look at it." As he spoke I had moved steadily closer to him, and as soon as he finished his sentence, I jumped up and grabbed his arm, I knew I couldn't reach my bag so I figured my best bet was to move it further down. My jump had unexpected results.

There was no brief struggle, laughing, or shouting. My foot apparently drove itself into Morris's ankle shortly after leaving the ground. He gave a yelp and instinctively pulled up the leg that had been kicked, unfortunately, trying to balance on one foot with me pulling down on his arm did not go very well. He could not pull against me and so, instead, ended up falling towards me and we both toppled to the ground.

I tried to twist around so I could catch myself with my hands and not crack my skull open on the grimy cement, but couldn't manage a full turn and landing on my side, one arm pinned underneath my body and my right cheek scrapped against the ground.

Thankfully Morris fared slightly better seeing as how he was about to fall directly on top of me. He had dropped my bag and was able to catch himself in a push-up position, saving me from additional pain caused by being smushed further into the grimy cement.

I close my eyes as pain shoots from my cheek to a point just above my temple. Goaning, I turn my head to face upwards, with the hope that the throbbing would stop, to no avail. Then I realize there's something touching my face, and immediately open my eyes to find that Morris is still leaning over me, his brow scrunched up, his whole face just showing worry as his fingers brushed my hair away from my temple.

"Damn," he murmured, his eyes glued to the side of my head. His eyes widen as he realizes I am watching him and he seems to finally notice our current position for the first time. "Sorry, Sorry!" He rushes out his words as he rolls over and sits up, allowing me to sit up beside him, "I'm so sorry, I think your head is bleeding!"

He didn't give me a chance to speak as he moved so that he was kneeling beside my head, apologizing profusely, something that was slightly out of character for his soaker persona. I guess my head must actually look pretty bad, it didn't feel any worse than a headache though.

I could feel his eyes on me as he examined me, and when I tried to look at him, he pushed my chin to where it was facing forward once again.

"Mo?" No response, "Mike?" I swear this boy is half deaf. "Morris Delancey if you do not stop ignoring me I will set my brother on you."

"Huh?" Geez this is like a bad joke, all I get from threatening him is a huh? "Morris you've gotta at least let me know how my head looks."

"I'm not sure what to tell you yet." He continued to stay uncharacteristically silent as he pulled out a pocket knife. "What exactly are you doing?" I couldn't help but have a tone of apprehension in my voice and he apparently heard it because his head immediately popped up, "Really?"

"Well it's not like it's a stupid question." He just rolled his eyes and turned the blade towards himself as he pulled out the hem of his shirt and promptly cut off the bottom of it. "Morris what are you doing!?"

"I'm making sure you're alright," came his response, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"By tearing up your shirt?'

"Oh will you just trust me for one minute?" He ignored my protests as he finished twisting the fabric into a ball and used it to wipe away the blood on the side of my head.

"You know Weasel is going to pissed you tore up your clothes." He grimaced as he replied, "He'd also be pissed if he heard you calling him Weasel; he doesn't have to know. As a matter a fact, I think I'll keep this whole incident to myself. By the way, your head isn't as bad as I thought, just bleeding a lot."

He then flipped the rag over so that the cleaner side was against my temple and proceeded to use the shirt piece as a makeshift bandage. "You know you didn't have to do all that," I stated as he stood up and grabbed my hat from where it had fallen. Reaching his hand down to pull me up, he chuckled and said, "No, but I figured I better, or I might wake up to a few, more than angry, newsies at my door. Plus," he looked at his feet as he continues, "It kinda was my fault."

"Oh shut it, I'm the one that kicked your ankle-" he cuts me off, finishing my sentence, "-Which wouldn't have been an issue if I hadn't pissed off your brother this morning."

"Oh," I had pleasantly let that little problem slip from my mind even though I had told Al and Specs I'd ask about it. I walked back over to the stack of crates and climbed back to my perch from earlier.

"So that's why your bag was up here," Morris commented as he pulled himself up to sit beside me, both of us leaning back on the wall of the alley. He sets his hat beside himself and hands me mine as he says, "Well, go ahead and ask, I know you're thinking about it."

"I just- well," I look at his blank expression, "Why Crutchie? I mean some of the other guys can take it, I mean, look, I know Weisel wouldn't be happy if you didn't mess someone up, but literally anyone else is a better idea." His continued stare into space is actually starting to piss me off now. Completely exasperated, my voice rises in pitch as I say, "I mean, even me would be a better option than Crutchie and I-"

"No!" I resisted the urge to jump off of the crates as he turned to me with an incredulous look, "No way in hell would I ever do that! You must be insane if you think-"

"- I'd rather it be me than Crutchie or one of the younger boys any day!" Repeating his own words I continue, "And you must be insane if you think your uncle isn't going to notice that I'm the only newsie over twelve years old that either you or Oscar haven't kicked around yet!"

"I don't care! I don't give a damn what Weisel thinks or threatens I would never do that!"

"So then what are you going to do when he asks you about it?"

"I'll cross that bridge when I get to it."

I refuse to look at him while we sit in silence. We rarely fight since we don't get to spend much time together to begin with, so we try to make most of it count, but, when we do fight, it's never good.

After a few minutes I decide to break the silence, "You never did answer my question." Morris sighs and asks, "Which was?"

"Why Crutchie?"

"There really isn't a good answer, and I don't really think there ever will be. The Weasel-"

"-The Weasel?" I interject. Rolling his eyes Morris continues, "Yes, the Weasel has somehow gotten the idea that Oscar and I are too easy on all of you. He also has come up with a new plan to, and I quote, keep the newsies in check under the guidance of the one and only Snyder the Spider."

"I'm not gonna like the new plan am I?"

"Nope."

"Well, might as well get it over with."

"Keep the lions in check by preying on the cubs. He wants us to focus our efforts on beating on the younger and weaker boys, and if things still aren't how he wants them Snyder will start hauling off the younger boys to the refuge."

"Don't they realize that'll just add fuel to the fire?"

"Either that or it'll break the older boys, which is what Snyder and Weisel are hoping for."

"But you can't-"

"I know," he cuts me off with a sigh, "but I don't know what to do. If Oscar and I refuse, we get kicked out with no money and nowhere to live, or worse, get turned over to Snyder or one of the other goons he hangs around with. I swear, half of em wants me and Oscar beaten to a pulp and the other half just want us with bullets in our brains. Apparently, we talk too much, and they don't like it when we try to dissuade them from beating up some kid not even half their size."

As usual, the issue was the fact that if they didn't do what Weasel wanted both brothers would get beaten senseless. I had always hoped that once they were older they would be able to stand up for themselves, but Weasel had thought of that himself. Now it wasn't just him being abusive, it was the threat of multiple grown men "handling" them. Since they were about twelve and fourteen, neither of the brothers had tried directly disobeying anything Weisel said, the consequences were never worth it.

None of us ever talked about it, but the last time the brothers didn't listen to Weisel was the first time he called Snyder down on them. Oscar had showed up outside the lodging house at two in the morning with two black eyes, a bloody nose, and bruises everywhere. Thankfully Specs had been awake, reading some book by candlelight, and just woke up me and Albert. When we made it over to the boys house everything was quiet. We snuck in through an upstairs window on the hall of the small place, and into the brothers' room.

I remember the whole thing vividly; I almost threw up when we walked in. Someone had carried Morris upstairs and thrown him on the floor of the room. He looked like an old ragdoll and was unconscious. I thought there was way too much blood on his face and the floor for him to even be alive. Oscar was about to collapse too, so Albert and Specs moved him onto the bed while Oscar sat down next to him. I think that was the only time I've seen any of the boys sobbing. He was hysterical, and I'm surprised I wasn't, because Morris was half dead.

We all helped to patch both of them up as best we could with what we had, which wasn't much. Oscar had passed out on the other bed in the room before Specs, Al, and I left. Oscar was working at the stand the next morning, but none of us saw Morris until three days later. Oscar told us he couldn't even get out of bed for the first two days.

Since then they hadn't done much to go against Weisel's will, and with good reason. That's also the singular reason Specs and Al haven't ever really threatened to tell Jack about us being on friendly terms, because they know why they do what they do. Problem is that doesn't make it justified.

If things were different the Delanceys and the newsies might actually get along. Hell, if Weisel had kicked the boys out instead of making them bend to their will they might have actually made pretty good newsies. I can't help but chuckle at that image, and Morris turns to me, eyebrow cocked.

"I'm sorry, it's just I had the thought that, well,"

"Do I actually want to know?" he asks as he looks upward.

"If you guys didn't have anything else to do, I thought well, maybe you two could be newsies."

We both sat there looking at each other for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. "The day your brother lets me be a Manhattan newsie will be the day Weisel turns into a kind-hearted old man."

"Well, then you wouldn't have to worry about being a newsie," I manage to squeeze in between giggles. "I guess you're right," he replies. We sit like that, joking around for a few minutes until its about time to hit the street.

"We should probably get going, I've got a lot of papers to sell, and we've been sitting here so long that, even with you helping, I may not sell them all."

"Alright, but before we go, I've been to ask you-"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence as a loud crash comes from the other end of the alley. We both whip our heads in the direction of the sound and Morris jumps down in front of me, hands on the brass knuckles he keeps in his pocket, as we look to try and see who or what is in the shadows of the alleyway.

We both heave a sigh of relief as Oscar comes barreling down the alley full speed towards us. Actually, that relief may not have been warranted judging by the look on his face.

"Osc," Morris uses a childhood nickname for his brother, "what wrong?"

Oscar talks in between heaving breaths, "We all need to go, now!" I look at him puzzled, "Why?" He glances between the two of us before replying, "Someone told Snyder you two were down here, I don't know who, where, or how, but he came to the house, wanted to see Weisel, and now they're both on their way here. Thankfully, they didn't know I was home, so I climbed out a window before they could leave to beat them here. If we get caught here though, I don't want to know what happens."

"Yeah, ok, we definitely need to get moving." Morris grabs my bag as I jump down from the crates and we all walk out onto the street. I stay between the brothers as they glance to either side, checking to see if Snyder or Weisel are nearby.

"Guys?" Morris taps me on the shoulder as Oscar and I turn to look at him. "I think I found them."

Sure enough, on the other end of the street were two men walking our direction at an alarming pace with a determined stride. I grab the sleeve of both boys' shirts and pull them backwards as I shout, "Back into the alley!"

In an instant we're all turned and running, through the alley to the other street. As I get out onto the street, Oscar, who had been just ahead of me, grabs my arm and pulls me back into the alley I look at him quizzically, but he just jerks his head to the corner where Morris peaking around to scout out the street. I then move beside him to get my own look.

Coming from the same direction as Snyder and Weisel were two more men, but these two I didn't know. "Their names are Charles and Edgar," Morris seemed to read my mind, "and they're nothing but trouble. Oscar and I have been unfortunate to work with them before, but usually they just get sent out to take care of any thorns in Snyder's side."

"Well that's just absolutely fantastic, what do you propose we do?"

"I think I may have an idea," Oscar interjects, "if we can reach one of the fire escapes we can get onto the roof, from there we move past those goons and they're never the wiser."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Morris asks. He had a point, the fire escapes were designed to be unreachable from the ground, to keep out burglars, but if we had something to stand on. I scan the alley and my eyes fall on my makeshift milk crate tower, dangling just above and slightly to the side is a metal ladder.

"I think I can answer your question Morris," I grin as I jog over to the crates, of course you'll have to get the ladder down for the rest of us."

"I think I can manage that," Morris returns my grin and climbs to the top of the crates. The ladder is still higher than he is and off to the side so he'll have to at least get on the tips of his toes before he can manage to get a hold on it. Oscar sighs as he sees Morris fully extended, leaning further and further away from the center of the crates, which were now threatening to fall over, "How about at least try not to break your neck Mo."

"I've got this Osc, I don't know why you're so concerned." Just as he finished talking, the crates gave way, and he made a last ditch grab for the ladder, he managed to pull it down, but he landed in the haphazard pile of wooden crates. "Morris!" Oscar jumps forward and starts to try and move the boxes out of the way, but Morris just pops right up laughing like there's no tomorrow. "That would be why I'm concerned Mo," Oscar states as he throws his hat at his brother.

"I hate to break up this lovely conversation, but we are going to have company soon if we don't move it!" At my words, both of the brothers grew serious once again. Oscar started giving instructions, Morris, you and I are going to help Bets get up first," the ladder was still slightly out of reach for me, "then you go and I'll follow, once we get far enough up I'll pull the ladder up and we'll be home free."

"How come you're going last?" Oscar responded to Morris question by simply stating, because I said so."

"That's no good, I'm taller than you, I'll have less trouble pulling the ladder up, I'll go last." Oscar moved to stand right in front of him, giving him the same look Jack had given me a thousand times, "No, I'm going last because you're my little brother and it's your hide that's in trouble."

Morris was taller than Oscar, so Oscar's glare was slightly hilarious, but Morris backed down, if arguing with Morris was frustrating, trying to argue with Oscar when he had made up his mind was nearly impossible. "Alright," Morris turned to me as he spoke, "You're up first."

The boys made steps with their hands and braced themselves while I climb up their hands, and with one last boost I grab onto the third rung and pull myself up. Morris was right behind me, he didn't have any problems reaching the ladder.

I focus my attention on the task at hand and am on the roof of the three story apartment building in a few moments. Morris pulls himself up as I look over the edge of the building at Oscar, he finishes locking the ladder back in place and starts the last leg of the climb up.

As Oscar pulls himself over the edge, voices start to float up towards us. I first look to Morris, then Oscar, and, simultaneously, we lay down on the roof with just our eyes over the edge to peer down into the alley.

"I thought you said this was the place Snyder." Weisel did not sound happy. "This is the Kelly brat's selling spot, and you said yourself that you saw your nephews headed this way."

"What would those two even want with the Kelly boy?" one of the goons, Charles I think, asked. So, Kelly boy, I guess Snyder hasn't told anyone about my identity. He must have the most inflated ego in the world if he won't even admit that a girl escaped his refuge, even it meant it might be easier to catch me.

"Nothing good," Edgar commented, "When are you going to let us deal with those two Weisel?"

"Once I know for sure how certain affairs are lined up, it'll be soon, just have some patience."

What the hell is he talking about? I look at Morris and Oscar only to find that their faces are contorted into an expression of confusion that must be similar to my own. After a few more moments, the men move on down the street and I heave a sigh of relief. "Can we not cut anything that close again please?"

"Oscar," Morris speaks up, "What was all that about?" He asked the question that was on all of our minds. "I don't know, but I intend to find out. Until that point however, you two steer clear of the lot of them, except for Weisel, unfortunately, he's unavoidable."

We sit in silence for a few moments, each person mulling over their own thoughts and Oscar's instructions. Morris is the first to stand up and, offering both Oscar and I a hand, he pulls us to our feet. "We can't do much now," he looks at me, "but you've got papers to sell Bets. I'll stick with you today."

"I'm going back to the house," Oscar says, "maybe I can dig something up while Weisel is out."

With that comment we go our separate ways, Morris and I out onto the street, Oscar back towards the distribution center.

It doesn't take long for the mood to lighten up as Morris attempts to 'embellish' the headlines and we joke about every other passerby. No matter how hard I try though, I can't get the sound of Weisel's voice out of my head.

**End note: I do apologize, but I didn't proofread/check over this chapter as much as the others so mistakes are inevitable, but I really wanted to get this chapter posted because yall have waited long enough.**


	5. The Bowery Beauties' Ugly Cousins

**Ok so I am sorry, but I just have no idea what POV I write better in so I'm just trying whatever comes to me when I start writing, this is the first piece of fanfiction I've ever attempted and I'm still trying to figure out what writing style works best for me, so if things switch back and forth that's on me. Also play spot the musical theater reference, I promise it's not too hard.**

**I own nothing but Bets.**

* * *

Nearly sprinting through the streets of Manhattan, I make my way back to the dusty, two story apartment I'm unlucky enough to call home. I shouldn't have left Morris and Bets alone, not when there's obviously something going on. Maybe I should go back? No there isn't any time for that. Weisel will beat me back home if I do that, and I need to figure out what's going on.

The streets are crowded, the general stench of sweat and dirt is strong enough to clog the senses, but you can't expect anything else from the cheaper distracts of Manhattan. I can't twist through the crowds of people fast enough. Each face I pass is more worried than the next. They could be concerned about anything and everything; from putting food on an old dining table to the kids they are undoubtedly sending off to some factory, wondering if today's the day that kid comes home with a mangled arm or missing fingers.

If there is one good thing that comes from the years Morris and I have spent with Weisel, it's our jobs helping him at the newsstand. We never had to go off to work in one of those disgusting hell holes. I have to wonder whether or not it's worth it though. If we had grown up working like that, but were safe at home with a family that actually gave a damn about us, things probably would have been very different today. Hell, we may have actually had friends growing up, or a semi-normal childhood.

Morris and I had always been around older guys, always business oriented, and not a friendly type of business at that. People like Charles and Edgar, thugs for hire. Sure we had, and have, Bets, but now that we're older I think even that may be slipping. She is going to get hurt if Weisel finds out we so much as speak to her. I've told Morris that a thousand times, but he doesn't want to listen, even after what I told him yesterday he still insisted on spending his day helping her sell papers, and we all almost got caught because of it.

Dodging a handful of kids lucky enough to not be working, I finally reach the house I'm unlucky enough to call home. Taking the front steps two at a time, I grab the key we keep on a ledge over the door and step inside.

It's quiet and dark. Dust floats in the air through the sliver of sunlight from the open door. I don't bother turning on any lights and head straight down the dim hallway, up the stairs, and to the larger of the two bedrooms in the house, located near the front of the building. I hesitate before slowly pushing the door open.

Taking a cautious step forward into Weisel's room, my eyes dart to every corner of the room. I glance over the desk in the far corner to the wardrobe, to the large bed that dominates the room. I don't have the slightest clue what to look for; Weisel said something about certain affairs. It's got something to do with Morris and I, they want us out of the picture I think, I just can't figure out why.

We don't have anything worth putting any amount of trouble towards; at least, we haven't since we were little. My only real shot of figuring anything out is to just go through Weisel's junk with the hope of finding some hint as to what they were talking about.

First I make my way over to the desk in the corner. There are papers and letters haphazardly spread across the desk. Sorting through them I find letters from Snyder and other undesirables, newspaper clippings, and quickly jotted notes, none of which have anything to do with Morris and I, unless you count the fact that we help distribute the papers. The drawers on the desk are just as useless; they're filled with pens, pencils, old business orders and newspapers from days where the headlines were big. Who knew Weisel was sentimental?

Opening the wardrobe, I take one look at the row of coats and shirts and know I'm wasting my time. A low creak then runs through the old house. I freeze. If Weisel catches me in his room I'm dead for sure. When there's no swearing, stomping, or screaming, I chalk it up to the normal creaks of the place.

I can see the sun rising higher as I glance out of the window. I'm running out of time. That creak may have been a false alarm, but, odds are, the next one won't be.

The usual drill is for Weisel to come back to the house after wrapping up at the distribution center, several other men in tow, and have everyone gather around the small dining room table in the kitchen. From there they grab cards, dice, or whatever else to play poker or whatever game they can think of, so long as it has high stakes. Throughout their game they periodically send someone down the block to the closest bar for drinks whenever the stock in the kitchen runs low.

Morris and I try our hardest to avoid the house until they eventually all go out later in the afternoon. Every now and then we'll get drafted into their informal meetings to discuss how to deal with one issue or another.

I make my way to the other end of the room, to glance under the bed, which is actually completely cleared out. Well that was a bust. Glancing around the room once more, the little bedside table catches my eye. The top of the table is more or less clear, with just a pair of glasses and a pen sitting beside a lamp, but the handles of the two drawers are well worn.

Never in all the years that Morris and I have lived with Weisel have we looked through anything in this room. We avoided the place as much as possible. It has to be something important, nothing personal, no major documents; nothing of any real importance has turned up yet. This has to be the Weasel's personal store.

I slowly reach out for the top draw, and let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding when I see that it's virtually empty. All that leaves is the larger bottom drawer.

Once again reaching forward, stooping down, I pull open the drawer and am greeted by a large cardboard box. Glancing around the room, as if to double check that I'm alone, I pick the box up and sit down on the ground, placing it back down beside me. I carefully remove the lid and peer inside.

Files, papers, checks, and random amounts of cash make up most of the contents of the box. Each paper is marked with handwritten labels, some are the name of businesses, others carry the titles of investments or newspaper deals.

My stomach lurches the moment I see the next file. In a scrawling script, unlike the other somewhat neat labels, are two names I have spent the last twelve years of my life trying to forget; Harry and Christina Delancey.

All thought of Weisel, Snyder, or any other goon that wants me beat to a pulp slips from my mind in an instant as I gingerly open the dusty file, and see the one thing I would never expect to set eyes on.

The very first thing in the file is a picture. To anyone else, it would be inconsequential, but to me, it's better than any Christmas present some rich kid in the Upper East Side could ever receive. Four figures are in the frame, a man that almost looks like me now, a beautiful woman with strawberry blonde hair, and two little boys, one with shaggy blonde hair, grinning while holding onto his mother's skirt, and a little boy in his mother's arms. The smaller of the two boys had his mother's bright hair, and was completely comfortable in her arms, even though he could probably walk on his own. The father was smiling with his arms around the whole family, his smile copied onto the face of the youngest boy, the same grin I used to see on Morris's face often, before Weisel put us to work.

Morris probably doesn't even remember the day we took this, he has to be too young. That may actually be good. If I couldn't remember all the happy times we had before, picnics in a nearby field, playing tag and the pair of us cackling whilst running away from our dad. The day we took this picture, Mom had been running around like crazy, trying to get everyone ready; I just pulled Morris out of the way so she could get everything she needed to do done. We sat in the kitchen eating cookies that were meant for a Sunday dinner dessert until both of our parents had shown up at the kitchen door.

Actually, I think they had stood at the door for several minutes before addressing either of us. They had been talking about something in hushed tones; both of their faces worried, I only wish I knew what it was about.

Sliding the picture into my shirt pocket, I take a look at the remaining papers and documents. Most detail landownership, investments, and other monetary undertakings. One thing I don't see anywhere is a will. I'm not sure I would actually want to find something like that though. Moving over a receipt from some tailor, I notice the corner of an envelope. Removing the envelope from the stack of papers, I once again take note of the scrawling, messy, script, except this time, the script bears two different names; _Morris and Oscar_.

"I don't care! Do what you have to!" I'd recognize that voice anywhere. I scramble, replacing the contents of the box and putting the room back in order, but not before slipping the letter into my pants pocket. I hear the front door open as I slow down my pace in an effort to muffle the sound of my movement across the house to the room Morris and I share.

I slip into my room as quietly as possible, and I can still hear Weisel. He is coming up the stairs. Grabbing one of the few books in the room, I kick off my shoes and throw my hat onto the dresser as I nearly sprint to my bed, lie down, and open the book to a random page. Not even moments later, Weisel bursts through the door.

"Where is that brother of yours?" Well, thanks for the hello, "I haven't seen him since I left the distribution office earlier."

"Well, he better not be too late getting in tonight, the three of us have a lot to discuss. Some changes will be happening around here very soon, and we need to plan for them. Come on downstairs, we can go ahead and start planning without him."

I wait until I hear him move on down the stairs before letting out a frustrated sigh. I throw the book onto the bed as I stand up, and pat the picture in my pocket before following the weasel downstairs. You better not get back too late Morris.

* * *

"So which way are we headed?" Morris asks as we continue walking further away from my usual selling spot.

"Well, it's been hard to make a decision seeing as how you keep distracting me with your awful attempts at selling newspapers." I attempt to give him a pointed glare, but we both burst out laughing almost immediately.

"I'm glad I'm amusing, but I do like to know how far I've gotten myself into walking." He is not going to like my answer at all. "Well you know how the 'hattan newsies work, we pretty much have everything covered, and we don't take each other spots, especially when selling is as hard as it is right now."

"I don't think I like where you're headed with this."

"You shouldn't."

"Great." He looks down at me as he says, "Get it over with."

"Elmer's sick so he's back at the Lodging House for the day on Jack's orders, so I'm gonna take over his spot for the day."

"Which is where exactly?"

"The corner of Bowery and Broome."

His eyebrows shoot up as he spins on his heel to stand in front of me, blocking my way. "No! You do not need to sell over there and you know it."

"I don't exactly have a lot of options, besides, you're with me." I try to walk around him, but he slides over to stand in front of me once again. "This is actually one thing your brother and I would agree on. Elmer can sell there because he's both one of the oldest newsies, and he's got enough muscle that he can handle himself."

"I can manage just fine on my own if you're scared to go down there Morris."

"C'mon, don't be like that Bets. You know just as well as I do that all that's down there are bars, brothels, and-"

"I know very well what's down there, but it doesn't change the fact that it is a half decent selling spot and besides, I've got a tall and handsome bodyguard." Oh wait no I did not just say that.

Morris ducks his head as he steps backwards, turning around so he can walk beside me. "So, handsome?"

Gritting my teeth, I refuse to look at him as I say, "If you never bring it up again, neither will I."

"Fair enough, though handsome doesn't do much for the Bowery Boys gang, and everyone knows there are two people they hate, Catholics and Irish, and I look about as Irish as is possible."

"Actually, you could use more freckles for the whole Irish thing."

"I guess that's good. Still, I would like to at least try and avoid them. Let's stop a block up from Broome, we won't be quiet as far into the heart of the Bowery then."

"You are a complete nitwit you know that?"

"What?" He grins as we both turn to look at each other. It's been a while since I've seen that mischievous sparkle in his eyes, "It's my favorite street in the city, Delancey Street!" I just smile and shake my head and he laughs beside me.

It's a short walk over to the Bowery, and we spend what's left of the morning selling papers. For lunch we duck into a little café for a couple of cheap sandwiches, which aren't bad, but it's not Jacobi's.

The afternoon was more successful, with more men getting off from work and heading down to frequent the Bowery's - as Morris put it - institutions. We did receive a few strange looks though. I'm not sure which one of us they were directed to. It has been getting harder for me to pass as a boy, so I would expect some of the people on the streets to have their suspicions, and a girl in newsie attire is something I can only assume draws some attention.

Morris received some curious looks too though. He may be seventeen, but his height makes him look older. He had taken off his tie sometime after lunch and run it through one of his belt loops, and let his suspenders off his shoulders so they hung in two loops at his side, but he kept his hat on. He genuinely looked like a young businessman, the near complete opposite of a newsie, and so the sight of him selling papers drew some attention. We made an odd looking duo, but the attention helps sell the paper faster than usual.

* * *

It doesn't take long for my stack of papers to dwindle to almost nothing, and we're down to the last two papers by four o'clock. Morris had established a few minutes earlier that I, "work too hard," and so he was going to sell the last few papers.

I watch him try to get rid of the papers from my seat on the ground. I won't take back what I said about him being handsome earlier, not when I know I was right, but that doesn't mean anything. A person can find someone good looking without actually being attracted to them, right? Of course his slightly disheveled appearance only enhances his attractiveness. Then there's the light of the afternoon sun shining down gracing each of his features from my position on the ground, and oh dear mother please no. I think Specs and Al may be right after all.

I suppose it would explain why I love seeing him smile so much, and why I always notice the little changes in his appearance, and how it's so easy for him to get me to smile. We can't though, I couldn't, I don't know. There's too much bad blood between the newsies and the Delanceys. No way could something like that ever work. Besides, it's all moot, through all the years that we've been close, it's only ever been as friends. There is no reason to think that would change for him even it does for me somehow. Don't wish, don't start Bets, forget it.

He turns around and gives an odd smile, the sunlight reflected in surprisingly warm eyes, eyes that somewhat catch me off guard. What in the world is the smile for though? Now he's leaning his head towards me, and I can tell he is about to start laughing. Oh no. I'm sure my face carries a look of horror as I whip my head to look at the ground. I can hear him chuckle softly; I can't believe I just stared at him. I can feel my face starting to turn pink so I pull my hat down to cover it, letting some of hair spill out.

"You alright down there Bets?"

"Just peachy Morris. Sold those papes yet?" my voice is muffled by my hat as I ask the question. "Not yet, but there a few guys headed this way I think I can pass them off to. I know I'm not supposed to mention it, but-"

"If you aren't supposed to mention it then don't" Standing up I take one of the papers from him, step forward, and get ready to shout a headline, when I feel something tugging at the back of my hat. "What?" I try to turn around.

"Hold on for a minute miss bustle." Morris pulls on the side of my cap to keep me facing forward with him standing behind me.

"Really, that's the best you can come up with?"

"Cut me some slack, I'm trying to do something here." He gently tucks my stray hair back under my cap, funny, I never thought I'd use gentle in a situation like this. Whenever one of the other newsies catch my hair misbehaving they help fix it, have to keep certain things under wraps you know, but, while they try to be careful, it normally involves a measure of pulling. Morris is absurdly careful, caring in a way. I feel him let go as he says, "There, you're all set."

I turn around and say a quick, "Thanks!" but nearly bump into him as I do so. My line of sight falls at his shoulders, and, looking up, I realize that when I turned around, he didn't step back at all. Our eyes meet for a brief second where we are just inches apart, but then he takes a hasty step backwards and I can breathe again.

"So uh, papers." He says.

"Right, thanks again." He hangs back while I sell my paper to a man headed into a nearby pub. "So there's one more left," he steps forward to stand beside me as we both look around for someone to sell the paper in his hand to.

Three men, well maybe not men, probably Oscar's age, they look about nineteen, though they could be a few years older, turn onto the main road from an alley and start heading our way. "What do you think about those three?" I tap Morris on the shoulder with the intention of pointing them out, but judging by the look on his face he's already seen them, and he doesn't like them.

He stands up straighter and changes his stance to make himself seem larger, puffing out his chest. His face is virtually emotionless except for his eyes, they carry a sharp focus and intensity that I'm not sure I've ever seen before.

As the trio walks up to us he casually slips his hand into his right pocket, most people wouldn't find it odd, but I know that's where he keeps his brass knuckles.

"That today's paper boy?" the man heading the group asks. "Well, it isn't tomorrows," I respond. He seems a bit stunned. Morris cuts his eyes at me, but I've already dug the hole now, and I'm not about to grovel to get out of it. "Let me see it." I should just let him have it, I really should, but I'm a newsie and dammit I need that money. "It'll cost you a penny sir." Maybe the sir will save it. Judging from the now furious expression on the man's face, it didn't. The man nods to each of his companions, but before they can do anything Morris tries to save the situation.

"Look, this is just a bit of misunderstanding, my friend here will give you the paper, it's not a problem." He turns his back to them to face me, and mouths, 'Bowery boys.' Oh good job Bets, your big mouth is about to get both you and Morris soaked. I peek over his shoulder, I'm not sure why he hasn't turned around, and say, "What he said, really, it isn't a problem." When the man doesn't make a move to take the paper from me I look back to Morris to see that his face is once again set in that look of steel, and his brass knuckles are on the fist balled in front of me, where none of the men can see it.

"I would love to kid, but the paper isn't important anymore. We demand a certain amount of respect, especially on our home turf, and if I was to let you get away with that, then that respect would start to wane, and that's just something I can't have. Boys," the man once again turns to his companions, "teach them a lesson, from me." With those words he walks off, and I focus my attention on the two now grinning men coming steadily closer.

Morris locks eyes with me as he whispers, "Please, for what will be the first time in all the years I have known you, listen to me for the next couple minutes."

"Just this once," I nod my head as I get ready to either run or stand my ground. I don't know what he's about to try, but he's got his mind set on something, and if there's one thing he has a bit of an edge of over me in, it would definitely be fighting.

"What the hell do you think this kid's problem is?" One of the men is talking to the other. "You can't pretend we ain't here by turning your back on us boy."

The other man shouts, "Hey!" steps forward, and grabs Morris's shoulder, but Morris continues to ignore him. Morris mouths the word duck as the man moves to yank his shoulder backwards. I drop to the ground as the man growls, "We're talking to y-" unfortunately, he can't finish his sentence because he drops to the ground out cold before he gets the chance.

Morris had been ready for the man to pull him back, and used that momentum, with his own, to turn around and swing his fist through the space my head had been occupying, and connect his brass knuckles with the man's temple. Using his entire body to put force behind the punch didn't give the unsuspecting thug a chance.

Scrambling back up to my feet I stand just behind Morris, who has dropped into a fighting stance, both fists up, bouncing from one foot to another.

The only man left standing shakes his look of shock and it is replaced with fury. Snarling, "You bastard!" he charges forward. Morris tries to get in a few good hits but the man doesn't feel them, most likely because of a good bit of alcohol.

Not bothering to defend himself, both of the man's fists are flying with Morris now moving backwards, trying to avoid said fists until a lucky right hook connects with his mouth. His head snaps backwards and while he's distracted, the man is able to kick his feet from under him, pounces on top of him, and grabs the front of his shirt, fist pulled back.

He must have hit Morris pretty hard because I can tell he's still trying to orient himself, he's a little dazed, and there's blood running down his chin from his now split lip. His eyes land on me and he croaks, "Run." I know I said I'd listen to you Morris, but if you really think I'm going to leave you here to get the shit beaten out of you, you must be insane.

I take a deep breath before sprinting forward, tackling the man, both of us rolling off of and away from Morris. There is blood on the man's forehead, he must have scraped it against the street, and I use his moment of confusion to my advantage, putting all the strength I have into connecting my fist with his nose.

There is a sickening crunch on contact and bright crimson blood spurts out of his nose as it breaks. The man yelps as he throws up his hands to cover his face, not realizing that it's the smaller of his two assailants that has the better of him, and I clamber away from him before I lose my advantage.

Morris pulls himself up off the ground as I run over to him. A deep groan makes us both turn to look at, I'll just call him Broken Nose, as he starts to get up off the ground, looking ready to kill. Sleeping Beauty is also finally starting to regain consciousness, and trying to look around from his prone position on the ground. I can't believe I got us into this mess. I should've kept my mouth shut, but now we're probably both gonna have targets on our backs. Why am I so stupid, if I had just-

"Bets!" Morris grabs my wrist, and I'm pulled out of my thoughts as I turn to look at him. "Let's get out of here."

I follow him as we both run through the streets of lower Manhattan twisting through alleyways, losing any possible pursuit in a few minutes. Once we reach an alley near Jacobi's I stop, huffing for breath. Morris jogs to the end of the alley, checks the street ahead of us for any sign of trouble, and then jogs back up to me, with a wide grin on his face.

* * *

**So that's not actually the end of the scene more of a mid-scene cliffhanger, but I wanted to get****this chapter out already because ya'll have waited long enough, and hopefully this means the next chapter will be out in a week seeing as how this is an easy place to pick up/continue writing and I now have all planning done through the entirety of Act 1. That is all.**


	6. Downtime

**So, its been like two years. I'm back to writing, and I've had some time to fall back in love with Fanfiction as a whole and I really enjoyed writing this chapter so hopefully there will be more to come. returning to this story was actually really nice. I can't promise that I'll finish it, or any kind of update schedule, but as long as I'm writing, I'll post. Cheers!**

All clear, well at least it was easy to lose those nitwits. They weren't in the best shape for a good chase though.

Turning, I make my way from the end of the alley back over to where Bets is doubled over, hands on her knees, attempting, and failing, to catch her breath. Grinning I ask, "Still alive down there Bets?" Between heaving breaths I hear an answer, "Barely."

She shakes her head as she moves over to the wall and collapses to the ground, placing her face in her hands. I know she hates it when people get hurt, to this day Oscar and I still get an earful every time a newsie so much as gets a scratch. She knows why we do it, but she always makes sure we know just how screwed up it is. Maybe that's why we've gotten along so well for all these years, brutal honesty. Judging from her furrowed brow, the only part of her face presently visible, I can tell she's mentally beating herself up.

"It could be worse ya know." I'm ninety percent sure she's rolling her eyes right now. "It could. We've been in tougher scrapes before, up against even bigger boys, been outnumbered, a couple of times obviously outmatched." I pause with the hope that she'll respond and not continue to bury her head in the sand, metaphorically speaking of course. Is that the right use of metaphorically? I'm pretty sure it is. _The World_ likes to use that phrase, metaphorically speaking, in the editorials a lot. I used to hate that word as a kid, back when we helped print the papers instead of sell them. it showed up too often, and I couldn't pronounce it to save my life.

A quick gasp breaks me out of my thoughts, Bets is staring up at me, but not, well, me. She's focused on something, I think its my mouth. Now why in the world would she-

"You're bleeding!" she jumps up, jostling me out of my thoughts. So that's what that warm feeling must be, blood. Great. After a brief battle of me batting her hands away from my face while telling her to stop and to not worry about it, she shuts me down with a glare and grabs my chin, analyzing what must be a busted lip, at least I hope that's all it is.

"It's not that big of a deal Bets," my words come out garbled as she turns my head to the side with the vice-like grip she currently has on my face.

"Yes it is ya nitwit, it's my fault you got hurt so I'm going to at least make sure you're ok." After a few seconds of examination, she pulls the end of her sleeve over the palm of her hand, and proceeds to completely turn inward, focused on the singular task of gently wiping away the blood and grime on my face. "Now it's not a big deal." Looking up to meet my eyes she continues, "It's not as bad as it looked, just a little busted up."

"Well I could have told you that." Her face immediately drops the prior expression of concern and she purses her lips, if I wasn't injured she may actually have slapped me.

"What time is it?" She asks as she wanders down to the other end of the alley, I glance down at my watch, a gorgeous piece to be sure, according to Oscar, it used to be our dads. "Almost five-thirty," as I reply I hear a low rumbling sound and look up to see Bets with a deadpan face and hand on her stomach. "Want to grab some food?" I ask, while grinning at her. In half a second she's grinning and we both burst into a fit of laughter brought on by the harrowing afternoon. The late afternoon sunshine makes her face glow, shinning bits of gold occasionally peeking out from under her cap. She looks beautiful. Not that I could ever say that to her face without getting punched in the nose.

"Let's go," she turns and starts walking away from the alley, out of the Bowery, back towards the Lodging House. We finally duck into a little hole in the wall cafe, just as a dinner crowd starts to arrive. If it had just been Bets, its doubtful they would have let her sit down, but since I had put myself back together, tie and hat in place, the waiter only gave a confused look before seating us.

Bet's brow furrows as she looks over the menu, no doubt trying to find the cheapest thing available. "Order whatever you want, I'm paying this time. " Her head immediately pops up, "No you're not"

"Yes I am."

"Nope."

"Yes."

"No."

"I just got my paycheck from the World, I don't have to pay for a place to live, and you can't tell me selling is going well with the trolley strike headline."

"Fine. You can pay, but I'm going to pay you back one day alright?"

"I'll be looking forward to that day."

We finish eating and I walk with her to a spot a couple blocks from the theater the newsies like to hang around, I think it's called Medda's. "You sure you'll be alright from here?"

She grins as she looks up at me, "Yeah, I think I can handle it. The alley Jack wants me to meet him is only about a block from here. I'm surprised we didn't see him walking down here. That means you may want to scram before he shows up."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going. Weisel is probably ready to bash my head in for being out all day anyway." I start to turn away, but something makes me turn back to her, I don't know if it was the fight with the Bowery Boys or the mysterious words my uncle had while trying to track us down this morning, but it felt like something bad was on the way, and all I can think about is making sure she stays safe. That's when I do something I haven't done since we were little, I grab hold of her arm and pull her into a tight hug. To my surprise she doesn't resist. Maybe she has some of the same feelings I do. In that moment I hold onto her like a lifeline and whisper, "Try to keep yourself in one piece alright?" She responds, "You got it."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

And then I pull away, and the warmth and comfort that had flooded my body ebbs away. I turn and walk towards to distribution center, towards the small place I live. Hopefully Weisel won't actually kill me for being so late.

* * *

I watch as Morris walks away, his shoulders slightly stooped, he always feels too tall, and then head off in my own direction. I don't even manage to walk the block to the alley I'm supposed to be in when I hear footsteps behind me like someone is running. I look back and am greeted with the sight of Jack running full tilt, Davey and Les in tow, towards me. A little further down the street is a man that can only be Snyder the Spider. I pick up my pace and fall in line behind Les and we all duck into an alley, head up a fire-escape, and into the rafters of the one and only Medda's.

We don't get too far before Davey is protesting about the whole situation, and I myself start trying to question Jack, but neither of our queries are answered before Medda is calling us down.

"Ms. Kelly!" Medda is all smiles when she sees me I'm smothered in a hug before she asks, "When are you going to let me dress you up?" I laugh as I answer, "One day Medda, one day when I actually need it." Turning back to face the group the looks of shock on Davey's face is hilarious, but Les is even more funny, and we all end up laughing at the kid who can't keep his eyes off of the costumed performers in front of him. One quick call later, and Medda invites us all to stay for the show while she prepares to take the stage.

Jack wonders off backstage, no doubt to go look at some backdrop, leaving me with Manhattan's two newest newsies. We settle in by the curtain upstage where we get a pretty decent view of the stage. Les is completely lost in the show, but Davey eventually turns back to me. "So, you're a sister, not a brother." What a conclusion, and I thought kids that went to school were supposed to be smart.

"Yeah, I guess you woulda found out eventually, but I am, in fact, a girl."

"Isn't that-" I cut him off, "A bit odd?" I chuckle, and he grins back. "Well, its certainly an unusual situation, but I don't think its completely unheard of. I know of a couple of girls in some of the other districts. We're few and far between, but we do exist."

"So you just wear boy's clothes and make sure you keep your hat on?"

"Pretty much. Unfortunately, the guy that was chasing us, Snyder, knows I'm a girl, meaning if he gets ahold of me, things will inevitably be much worse for me than the boys in the refuge, but I've got to do something to make some money to live, and selling papes, while it means I'm always out in the open on the streets, is a better alternative than most other occupations left open for young girls with no money."

"Well I'll have to agree with you on that one. If your Jack's sister though, does that mean you were in the refuge too?"

"Yeah, it was rough. We ended up there after we lost both of our parents. I barely remember it, and Jack doesn't talk about it much. That place is something else." He can hear my voice drop and looks up to meet my eyes. "No matter what you do Davey, make sure your brother doesn't end up in that place. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy."

A silence falls between us then. He seems like a pretty nice kid, definitely didn't grow up on the street though, that's for sure. I eventually decide to break the silence, "You got any family around Davey?"

He immediately perked up, "Yeah, we do. My mom is amazing, and she cooks better than anyone else I know. My dad used to work in a factory until his arm got mangled and they laid him off. That's why Les and I are out here working."

"Well you couldn't have found a better selling partner than Jack for your first day on the job." That comment earns me a laugh and he responds, "He certainly is a character. He seems like he's a pretty good guy, even though he is apparently a wanted criminal."

"Oh that little detail is what makes you hesitate. He got caught stealing food and clothes for kids stuck in the refuge." I shake my head as I continue, "I told him to wait a minute before trying to get another loaf of bread but the boy didn't listen to me."

"So he's a regular Robin Hood then."

"Well I guess you could look at it that way, but he doesn't have quite as good of a track record, but I think he has more people giving him trouble."

"Speaking of that, I've been meaning to ask Jack, and I never got around to it, the guys who were working the newsstand this morning, they seemed ready to jump me right there, what do they do?"

I can feel my heart speed up as this touchy subject comes up, of course he doesn't know its an issue. Actually, no one here knows its an issue.

"Those would be the Delancey brothers. They work for the World at the distribution center and are supposed to patrol the streets and make sure the newsies stay in line and keep working. Unfortunately that sometimes means they're expected to beat up some kids." I can tell he already is starting to hate them. "If you tell Jack I said this it'll be your head, but its not something they enjoy or want to do, they aren't given an option in what they want to do with their lives. Just avoid them, keep out of their way, and everyone'll be happy."

"That sounds fair enough I guess, so I guess the old guy is the boss then. Is he their dad or something?"

I resist the urge to laugh, "No, he's technically their guardian I guess, though he doesn't do much of anything for them. He's their uncle, they lost their parents when they were young." Morris and Oscar probably wouldn't appreciate me spouting off their life story, but if it might get someone a little more on their side, it can't hurt.

"So you seem to know a good bit about them?"

Thankfully the curtain had already risen, darkening the area of the theatre we were in, so he couldn't see the worried look on my face. The first strains of music started on stage, and we had to quiet down to watch the show, so I whispered, "I find it best to learn as much as I can about a person before I make any judgment on them."

"That sounds like a good motto to live by," is all Davey said as he sat down for the show.

Per usual, Medda was stunning on stage. The entire audience was absolutely captivated, and no joke or wink went by without the appropriate amount of laughter or applause.

I always enjoy coming to Medda's. She is one of the few people that genuinely treats us newsies as fellow people, with compassion. I can't say I haven't thought about taking her up on the offer to "dress me up." I always do have to wonder what it would be like to not live on the street, and have a job like the girls do here. Sure some of it is gimmicky, but every now then, there's a girl dressed in a gorgeous satin gown that might take the stage and hush the crowd, supporting herself with a beautiful voice, and living like a normal person does. I don't even know if I ever have worn a dress, if so, I don't remember. It seems like such an alien world, but a world I would love to be a part of. Singing for a career is another thing that I've found intriguing. The ability to command a room with nothing but your voice. That's not something random street rats like me stumble into though. Singing is something that I may do around the streets when I don't think anyone's listening, but I hardly think I could do it on a stage. Certainly not as well as some of these girls do.

Of course there are a million things I would love to have. Proper schooling, a career, all of these things have one particular thing in common. Each thing is something I don't think I'm likely to achieve, not without some wonderful benefactor steeping in for me, which I don't see happening anytime soon. Big dreams, nothing important. Then there's Morris. He actually has a chance to do something, but he's stuck in Weisel's iron grip, and can't seem to break out.

Just then, a shift in the music breaks me out of my reverie, the strain of one of the standard numbers, "Just Come a Knockin' on my Door." The crowd relaxes into a little bit more whispered conversation at this point, allowing Davey to get in another word.

"This is a really nice little place you two seem to have found yourself." His tone implies a question.

"Medda is one of the few people that will actually help out newsies when we get in a pinch. If you ever need anything, come here. Medda will take care of you and your brother, she's watched over Jack and I as much as she could for years now. I know it's not exactly the kind of place you'd think a bunch of street-raised orphans would be welcome, but Medda has a big heart."

"That's something that seems to be pretty rare these days," Davey actually relaxes a little bit and leans back, a thoughtful look on his face. "Between you and me, I think that's probably a trait you share with her."

This kid is pretty smart then. "Well, I guess you could say that. I always try my best to help folks however I can. Of course, there isn't much I really can do, not when I make pennies a day."

"I don't mean it like that." Now its my turn to give Davey a funny look. "What I mean to say," he continued, "is that you seem to try and make yourself open to people. You welcomed my brother and I into this paper selling thing without a second glance, and, from how you talk about those brothers, I have to assume you've tried to be open to them too, even though they are almost in opposition to the newsies."

"I try, everyone deserves a decent enough chance you know?"

Davey just nods as some kind of commotion in the audience draws both of our attentions with a chorus of shushing.

It only takes another minute and the set is over. "We should probably figure out what happened to Jack," I say as I get to my feet, giving Davey a hand to help him up as well. Before we can actually begin our search though, Jack has found us, with a dazed look in his eye. He barely says anything beyond, "let's move," before he leads us out onto the balcony of the building and down the ladder. When we make it to the ground I turn to Jack, "You okay Jack?"

He shakes his head, almost like he's finally coming back down to Earth. "Well boys, I hope your first day as official newsies has been enlightening."

"Well, its certainly something different," Davey is not quite as enthusiastic as Les who jumps into the conversation with, "You're awesome Jack!"

"Well I'm glad I could get you on a little adventure today kid," Jack says as he musses up Les's hair, "but I think both your brother and I," he gives a meaningful look to Davey, "would both prefer it if we avoid run-ins like that for now. You two gotta get on home now right?"

Home? That must be nice, makes sense though, Davey and Les don't give off the smallest impression of being street kids, though I think we can get that little bit of attitude into them no problem.

"Yeah Jack, our Ma's probably gonna have our heads for getting back as late as it is," at this Davey extends his hand to Jack, sans spit, and they shake, "thank you for all the help today."

"It was my pleasure!" We turn to go our own ways and I throw in, "it was nice meeting you both, see you bright and early!"

On the walk back to the lodging house, Jack is unusually quiet, with a far-off look in his eye. "Are you all there Jack? One of the dancers catch your eye or something?" I ask with a grin.

"A reporter actually." Huh, I wasn't expecting that to actually be the cause of this mood. Its not rare for someone to catch Jack's eye, but he's never gotten like this.

"So did this reporter actually give you the time of day?"

"Begrudgingly, I think. She shot me down a couple times, but I finally got her to talk to me, and then I left her a little gift."

"And what might that have been?"

"Just a sketch, but maybe then she'll remember something about the random paper boy that broke into her box. She seemed like something special, headstrong, she didn't like it when I started questioning her uh, authenticity as a reporter."

"Sounds like we'd get along then," I can't help but laugh. "Someone needs to put you in your place every now and then." At that he laughs too, and we make our way back to the lodging house as I continue to rib him about this new crush of his.

* * *

By the time I finally make it back to the house the sun is just starting to set, and I can tell by the sound spilling from the downstairs window that Weisel has a whole crew over. Normally they would have already moved to a local bar. Well, there must be something going on then. I quicken my pace to try and myself a little bit less late for what I'm assuming is a meeting of some sort.

Slipping into the house via back door I take in the scene in front of me. Weisel is seated at the table next to Snyder and another fellow with an odd scar on his right cheek that I don't recognize. A handful of Snyder's goons fill in the rest of the space in the room, Charles and Edgar among them. Oscar is leaning up against the wall to my right so I move to join him. As I settle in, before I can ask Oscar what's going on, Weisel makes the comment, "Glad you could finally join us boy, I'll let your brother catch you up on what you missed earlier."

"As I was saying," the unknown man continued, "with the price change we can expect some trouble, so we need to be ready to make sure any big ideas of resistance get put back into the dirt."

"I'll make sure I have as many of my boys on call as possible," Snyder paused as he thought, "I think we may want to set up shop away from the distribution center. Let them think they have some kind of upper hand, and then move in and deal with them when they aren't expecting us."

Weisel grinned in agreement, "that would certainly maximize our chances of getting some of the troublemakers off the streets."

The unnamed man leaned forward in his chair, "However you two want to deal with the newsies is your business, just make sure you don't take so many of them off to the refuge that there aren't any left to distribute the papers."

"Oh don't worry Lawrence, you'll get your cut from the World and from me," well at least I know this fellow's name now, and apparently he's getting money out of whatever they are planning.

"You and your two boys keep alert in the morning," Snyder was speaking to Weisel now, "And the second there's any trouble, you come get us, leave your two behind to try and slow them down," he laughed as he said the last bit, as if Oscar and I could do much against an entire group of angry newsies. "First priority however," Snyder continued, "will be getting ahold of the Kelly brats. If anything goes down, they can be counted on the be the ones to start it, and we will be ready for them. Its been too long since I had those two under control."

Snyder sat and thought for a moment before he turned his head towards Oscar and I, "you two wouldn't mind being tasked with the older Kelly would you? You know him a bit better than my boys do." Oscar speaks up before I do, "we can handle Kelly if need be."

"Good, good. Charles and Edgar, you two are in charge of tracking down the younger one. Even if those two mess something up," he nods towards my brother and I, "you two get ahold of the younger sibling and Jack will be doing anything we tell him to." At that both of the two goons in question grunt in assent, and I can't help but notice a disturbing grin in place on their faces, and I don't think I like it. Whatever the hell is going on, its not going to be good for the newsies, and its not going to be good for Bets. I can't sit around and let her get hurt in all this. Maybe I can sneak out and head over to the lodging house. Sure they might try to soak me on site, but maybe I can try a window or something, get in touch with Specs or Albert, I know the two of them don't totally trust us, not that I can blame them, but they care about Bets too.

"I'm pretty sure we're all set to go then. Now that business is handled, how about we settle in for a game of cards." Nods of assent are seen all around the room and a tension I didn't notice was there relaxes.

A sudden pressure on my foot makes me turn towards Oscar, "what?"

With an exasperated look Oscar whispers to me, "Try not to paste everything you think on face Mo, let's go talk upstairs." Yeah okay, I should probably work on my poker face. As we make our way away from the table and towards the stairs Lawrence shouts out, "leaving the party so early?"

Oscar turns to answer him with something about needing a good nights rest if we're gonna be busting heads in the morning, while I walk on out. As I walk by, Edgar catches my arm, whispering, "Between you and me, that little girlfriend of yours is going to be fun to have in the refuge." Oh god.

I yank my arm out of his grip and head upstairs, Oscar behind me. The door to our room is barely closed when everything I'm thinking spills out. "Oscar, we can't let them do this, did you hear what Edgar said to me? It doesn't matter that we gave them the slip this morning, somehow they know. Damn, did you hear what he said to me? We can't let Bets get involved with whatever is going down, we have to warn her, I can sneak over there tonight or someth-"

"Morris! Keep your voice down! Are you crazy? There is no way we can get out of here tonight, not with this many people in the house, and especially not if they know. If they know, then we are going to be on extra close watch. We'll have to find some way to let her know in the morning."

"But Osc-!"

"No, Morris, we can't."

"We have to!"

"We will, we just can't help right now, any heads up would give us away immediately, and the second they know we aren't totally on their side, you know what happens. If that happens, neither of us will be any good to anyone, much less be able to help Bets. The best we can do is wait, warn her in the morning, and be ready to jump in if anything happens."

"Fine, but what Edgar said."

"I know, I heard him to Mo. We aren't going to let anything like that happen, no matter what. If we get caught in the crossfire at that point, so be it, but we won't let _that_ happen to Bets."

We fall quiet for a moment. "Fill me in on everything I missed." Oscar looks up, surprised at my hard tone, I guess I'm a little surprised myself, but right now the only thing that matters is making sure Bets doesn't get hurt.

Oscar gives me all the details on the price hike, the expected outrage, and the plan to cut off any kind of leadership the newsies may form. The Lawrence guy actually works for the World, something to do with security, but his job description sounds more like the mob. There's no way we can let Bets get involved. The moment she does, she becomes a central target. The issue is, how to do that without getting hell rained down on us by Weisel and Snyder. We try to brainstorm how to get word to her in the morning, but there are too many factors. Eventually we settle on me trying to get her to meet me outside, even though we'll run the risk of getting spotted. Then we both agree to try and get some rest.

The last thing I think of before I drift off to a restless sleep is Weisel. If he catches us helping a newsies on the day of their big bust, it might be like when we were kids again, except I don't know if I'd be able to walk again after the fact. If it comes down to it though, I know what choice I'll make. They can beat the hell out of me all they want, if it means Elisabeth gets out.


End file.
